


Musical Chairs

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Donna and Margaret go speed dating.  Josh convinces Sam to follow.  Comedy ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: This is set some time during Aaron Sorkin's golden years.  
  
Disclaimer: HurryDate is a real company. We swiped some language from their website. No copyright infringement intended. Oh, and we don't own these characters.  
  
This story was born out of an e-mail conversation that Jo March and I had years ago. We've finally gotten around to collaborating and making it a reality. Jo wrote Donna's POV, and I wrote Josh's. I hope it's clear that each time we switch points of view, it's separated by a string of tildas.  


* * *

When I first came to Washington, I was a naive farm girl with a dream.

It was a simple dream. I didn't wish for fame or wealth or even political power. All I wanted was to make a contribution.

Some day, I fantasized, we'd pass a law—something important. It might be health care or education or Social Security reform. And on the day that bill passed, I could point with pride to some small task that I'd performed to help make this new law a reality.

If that day ever comes, I don't think this will be the moment I point to. It's unlikely that I'll tell my grandchildren, "You have me to thank. There'd be no universal health care package if I hadn't gotten Josh Lyman's chair repaired."

Getting Josh's chair fixed is pretty much how I've spent my week.

It started on Monday night when Josh and Sam organized the first White House Chair Surfing Competition. Sam and his chair survived the incident unscathed. Josh, however, skinned both knees and is currently sporting a nasty bruise on his elbow. His chair fared even worse. Not only did it lose two wheels, it gouged the bullpen floor. (Deductions are being taken from Josh's paycheck for the damage to government property.) 

None of this fazes Josh, of course. He's trying to get Sam to agree to a rematch. "It's a matter of honor," Josh explained to me in that "I can't expect a woman to understand" tone that men adopt when discussing anything vaguely sports-related.

On Tuesday, after surveying the damage to the chair, I gave Curtis a call. By Wednesday, Josh had a perfectly functional desk chair once again.

Two days later, however, I'm setting an armful of briefing books on Josh's desk when I notice that something is amiss. 

I peer over the edge of the desk at the top of my boss' curly head of hair.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

His nose is barely level with the desktop. I walk around the desk and see him sitting in his chair, impossibly close to the ground, with a lever of some kind in his hand. Based on the way he's glaring at the lever, I suspect that it is some sort of wiretapping device placed there by Republican spies. 

"What are you holding?" I ask in my simple-farm-girl tone.

"It's the thing from my chair!" he yells. 

"What's it doing in your hand?" I fold my arms. "And why are you sitting so low?"

For the record, I'm not that simple. Or, technically speaking, a farm girl.

Clearly the thing in Josh's hand is the mechanism that allows his chair to move up and down. But I like when he explains things, especially when he's done something extraordinarily stupid.

"It broke off my damn chair!" He stands up, throws the lever on his desk, then squats down on the floor.

I take a few steps closer, surveying the damage. "Hmmm."

Josh looks up at me from his current position on the floor. "That's all you have to offer?"

"It's broken." I pick up the lever and slap it against my palm a few times.

"Ya think?" Josh runs his hand through his hair.

"And how did it break? Did this have anything to do with your rematch with Sam?"

"No," he says. He's a terrible liar. All I have to do is stare him down for five seconds. "Okay, yeah. I was, you know, trying to make some adjustments. For more speed."

"You were trying to soup up your desk chair?"

"Just call somebody and get me a new one."

"We've been through this already, Josh," I reply, leaning against his desk. "No new office furniture until after the first of the year."

He stands and brushes the dust off his pants. "It doesn't need to be new. I just need a chair."

I head toward the door. "I'll call Curtis."

*  
Curtis was the handyman at the first building I lived at in DC. Considering that the place was a dump, Curtis spent more time in my apartment than I did.

He recently confessed to me that he's single and looking. Mind you, I didn't ask for this information. Curtis kind of threw it out there when I picked up Josh's chair earlier this week. I'm pretty sure he asked me out while he was at it. As I recall, he said something along the lines of "I moved out of my parents' basement last month, so now I'm a man about town. We should do the town together sometime." I pretended not to know what he was talking about, thus escaping the situation unscathed.

When I call Curtis this time, however, he's a little more aggressive. 

"So I was thinking," he begins. "I have this dinner party to go to tonight for Tony's hardware store's twentieth anniversary. I was wondering if you'd be my date."

Curtis is a wonderful handyman. He is not, however, a smooth operator.

"I'd love to Curtis, but I'm...sort of unavailable." Okay, so I haven't had a date in six weeks; Curtis doesn't need to know that.

"Oh." He sounds dejected. "Maybe you could set me up. You know, with one of your friends."

How to describe Curtis? He's a short, stocky guy with thin brown hair that covers his ears. He reminds me of that psycho guy on "Cheers" who had crush on Diane—Andy Andy. I don't have any friends who might find Curtis attractive. Just as I'm about to think of a way to tell him this without hurting his feelings, Margaret breezes by.

"Lunch?" She mimes, presumably so as not to disturb me while I'm on the phone.

I nod. Margaret gives me a thumbs up, then disappears.

"Actually, I might have someone for you." I smile. 

This could work.

*  
The Mess is too crowded, so Margaret and I grab salads and go and eat them at her desk. I tell her about Josh's chair and my latest conversation with Curtis.

"He's single, you know."

Margaret eyes me suspiciously. "So why don't you go out with him?"

"Not my type," I say around a mouthful of Caesar salad. "But I think you might find him attractive."

"You're setting me up with your handyman?"

I stab a crouton. "I prefer to think of it as matchmaking."

"The last time you set me up, the guy left town the next day!" Margaret lowers her fork.

"He was cute though, wasn't he?" I shrug.

"I'll make you a deal." Margaret looks like she's deep in thought. Her eyebrows crinkle as she taps her finger against the desk. "If I go out with Curtis, you have to go speed dating with me this Friday night."

"Speed dating?"

"Yes. It's dating for the busy professional in the twenty-first century," Margaret answers matter-of-factly.

I shake my head. "I've heard of it, but I'm not going."

"Donna, if I agree to go out with this man who, as you yourself once put it, 'cannot carry a conversation for more than five minutes,' you have to go speed dating with me."

I close the lid on my salad container. "Curtis is a gentleman. He's just quiet. I think with your bubbly personality, you'd make a great couple. You'd bring him out of his shell. Besides, he really needs a date for this thing tonight."

Margaret ignores me and pulls out a manila folder from her top drawer. She looks around the room before emptying the contents onto her desk. There's a color-coded spreadsheet, a glossy brochure, and what appears to be a two-page list of questions.

She clears her throat and begins reading the brochure. "HurryDate is a super-fun new way to meet people. We bring together tons of singles, a cool bar, lots of drinks and a wild, anything-goes vibe to make each HurryDate party a total head-spinning blast. It's a great way to meet lots of new people, while avoiding the agonizing four-hour blind date gone bad."

I wonder if Toby's head would explode if someone forced him to read that brochure. 

"Super-fun?" 

"That's what it says, yes." Margaret hands me the brochure.

"I don't know, Margaret." I sigh. "Where's the romance in all this? There's something about locking eyes with a guy across the room and communicating without words. Or having a conversation that's fun and not forced. Knowing after three minutes that this is truly a man you'd want to spend time with."

Margaret regards me. "When was the last time you experienced that?"

That is not a question I choose to answer out loud, so I try changing the subject. "What is all this stuff?" I ask, pointing to the papers on Margaret's desk.

"I'm glad you asked." Margaret hands me a list of some sort.

I take the two pages from her and read a random question. "What size shoe do you wear?" I give her a quizzical look. "What kind of question is that?"

Margaret snatches the paper out of my hands, then points to the first page. "If you'd read page one, you'd see I'd only ask that question if the answer to question number six was yes."

"Well, that clears that up," I mutter.

"What clears what up?" a decidedly masculine voice asks. I turn around to see Josh walking into the room. I quickly place Margaret's spreadsheet and list of dating questions back into the manila folder. "I thought you were on the Hill."

"Meeting's over," he answers. He's peering just a little too eagerly at the manila folder.

"Your chair will be ready by five." I seem to be changing the subject a lot today. I glance at Margaret's desk to make sure nothing with the HurryDate logo is lying out where Josh can see it.

"And until then I'm just supposed to stand at my desk?" There's a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm not the one who broke your chair." I brush a piece of hair out of my face and stand. "Besides, you're in meetings most of the day."

He grins at me before directing his attention to Margaret. "Is he in?"

"He's with Dr. McNally."

Josh begins to walk away. Just as I'm about to breathe a sigh of relief, he stops in the doorway. "What are you two plotting?"

Before I can come up with a plausible story, Margaret answers. "Donna and I are going speed dating."

If anyone wants me, I'll be busy banging my head against the desk for a few hours.

"Speed dating?" Josh's eyebrows nearly touch his hairline.

"Yes. It's dating for the busy professional in the twenty-first century," she tells him.

Great. I know what will happen next. Josh is going to make fun of me for weeks. Possibly months.

"I agreed to go out with Curtis, the guy who fixes your chair. In exchange, Donna promised to go speed dating with me this Friday night," Margaret continues.

Terrific, Margaret. Just terrific. Give him the time and the place while you're at it, so he can come and mock me in person.

The grin on Josh's face makes me want to slap him. Or point out that I wouldn't be in this predicament if he hadn't broken his chair twice in one week.

"Speed dating?" he asks again.

Margaret nods.

"Don't you have work to do?" I blurt out.

Margaret looks intimidated. Josh, on the other hand, is rocking back and forth on his heels and grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Luckily for me, Nancy McNally and Leo walk out at just that moment.

"Try the poached salmon next time," Leo says. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"Will do," she says as she disappears down the hallway.

"Josh, how was Congressman Hawkins?" Leo asks.

Thank God! I've been saved by the second most powerful man in the country.

Josh follows Leo into the office. As soon as the door is shut, I turn to Margaret.

"How could you do that?" I ask in a loud whisper. "I'm never going to hear the end of it."

Margaret shrugs. "I didn't know you didn't want him to find out."

"Is this something you'd tell Leo?" I ask, pointing to the manila folder.

"I never really thought about it." She looks down. "It's not like Leo and I talk about dating the way you and Josh do."

"Josh and I don't talk about dating."

"You don't?" Margaret asks, her tone somewhere between skeptical and surprised.

"No!" I rub my forehead. "I mean, Josh makes fun of my dates and I pretend to support his, but we don't discuss..." My voice trails off for a minute as I try to pull my thoughts together. "I'm just not comfortable with Josh knowing about this."

"I'm sorry, Donna."

Margaret sounds truly apologetic. If possible, that makes me feel even worse. There's a "poor, unhappy-in-love Donna" tone to her voice that makes me distinctly uncomfortable.

"My mouth is shut from now on," Margaret promises. She pinches her finger and thumb together over her lips as if she's locking them and throwing away the key.

With the realization that the next few days are going to be hell, I head back to my desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
This must've been what James Marshall felt like when he discovered California gold in 1849.

I take a step closer to Margaret's desk and pick up a manila folder. The HurryDate logo catches my eye. It's an olive with a red heart pierced by a skewer. I'm guessing it's supposed to be like an arrow through a heart. How Cupidesque. The olive and skewer represent the whole bar thing, I suppose. I open the glossy brochure and read the first paragraph.

"Super-fun?" Toby would have a field day with this thing.

I continue reading:

Maybe you’re looking to end your dating dry spell. Maybe you just got dumped and are looking for the perfect rebounder. Maybe you're looking for a new tennis partner. Maybe you just want to conduct your own personal study on the favorite ice cream flavors of single people.

Yeah. I'm going to spend $50 to find out what flavor of ice cream single women enjoy. I roll my eyes and continue reading:

On your mini-dates you’ll have no problem weeding out the "yeah babys" from the "not if my life depended on its." It’s quick, painless and really fun! REALLY! 

Maybe if they wouldn't try so hard to convince people they'd have fun, people would, you know, find out on their own. As I'm about to flip the brochure over to read the back panel, I hear a female voice coming from the doorway.

"Can I help you with something?" Margaret stares at me with her hands on her hips.

I gulp. "I was just..."

"You were just what?" She snatches the folder out of my hands.

"Checking out the HurryDate stuff." I raise my eyebrows. "It sounds interesting," I lie.

Margaret tilts her head. "Really?"

I nod vigorously. "You and Donna should have a 'super-fun' time."

"I've never trusted that smirk, Josh."

"What smirk?" I shrug, trying to keep a straight face.

Margaret stuffs the manila folder in her desk drawer. "It might work on Donna, but it won't work on me."

"Margaret!" Leo yells.

She peeks her head inside Leo's office, then returns her attention to me. "We're done here, Joshua."

"Yeah." I walk down the corridor with what I'm sure some might consider a concerned look.

I'm not sure I like the idea of Donna trying out this speed dating thing. The part about lots of drinks and a 'wild, anything-goes vibe' doesn't sit well with me. I turn the corner and head into my bullpen. I'm not wild about the 'total head-spinning blast' part either. I make her head spin at work just fine.

"Where the hell have you been?" Toby asks. 

"Have you ever heard of speed dating?" I walk past him and into my office.

"Speed skating?" His head is buried in a file.

"Never mind." 

As I walk behind my desk, I notice I still don't have a chair. "DONNA!"

Ten seconds later, she appears in the doorway. "Yes?"

"I thought you were getting me a temporary chair?" I gesture to the empty space behind my desk.

She stands next to me and folds her arms. "They haven't brought it yet?"

"Apparently not." I run a hand through my hair. "How am I supposed to work like this?"

"We could meet in my office," Toby suggests. His eyes dart between me and Donna.

"Excellent idea, Toby." She smiles.

"It still doesn't solve the problem." I gather a few things from my desk and shove them into my backpack.

Donna removes my yellow notepad and replaces it with a white one. "I don't know what to tell you, Josh. There must be a shortage of desk chairs in the White House."

"I'm the third most powerful man in the country! You'd think that would give me priority with office furniture."

"I'll call down there again," she says, zipping my backpack. She looks at Toby and rolls her eyes.

"I saw that."

Toby walks out, and I follow. I glance back at Donna, who is staring at the spot where my chair _should_ be.

"I better have something to sit in by the time I get back," I call behind me.

*  
An hour later, I walk into my office to find a chair behind my desk. However, it's not the kind of chair you'd find at Office Depot or Staples. It's medieval looking.

"DONNA!" 

I feel her standing behind me a few seconds later. "I know it's not ideal, but it will have to do for another two hours."

If I wasn't involved in this chair debacle, I might enjoy the feel her breath on my neck.

"It looks like a throne!"

"I thought you'd like that part."

I walk closer to the chair, sizing it up.

"You could be all king-like," she says in a throaty voice.

She has a point. I sit down and put my arms on the arm rests. I like how high it is. "Yeah. This will do."

Donna grins. "Good."

Before she walks out, I stop her. "Have you seen Sam?"

"He was in his office a few minutes ago."

"Thanks." I pick up the receiver and ask Sam to pay me a visit.

*  
When Sam walks into my office, he stops in his tracks. "Wow."

"You like it?" I ask, smirking.

"It's...majestic," he comments.

"Try it out." I stand and gesture to my chair. "Tell me you don't feel powerful in this thing."

Sam holds up his hand. "I'll pass."

"Suit yourself, buddy." I sit back down. "Where've you been?"

"I had a meeting at the OEOB, then I stopped at that new bakery around the corner." He sits in the visitor's chair. "They have the best pecan raisin bread I've ever tasted. The sourdough is decent, but Betty's sourdough at Temptations is better."

There's a chance I look as uninterested in Sam's opinions on baked goods as I would if I were listening to Senator Stackhouse drone on about the rules of poker.

Yet he continues. "You know what Temptations is missing? Ambiance. At this new place, there are these little café-style tables with yellow placemats. Each table has a vase full of daisies." His smile looks nostalgic. "It's such a warm and friendly atmosphere."

I've wondered in the past if Sam put on a dress and let his hair grow, would people mistake him for a girl?

"Do you have plans tomorrow night, bread boy?" I figure changing the subject before we get to the baked goods display case is a good idea.

"I'll probably leave here between 9 and 10, go home and watch 'I Love the 80s' on VH1, then call it a night." Sam looks at me. "Why? Did you have something more exciting in mind?"

I stand up and close my door. "How would you like to go on a date with 20 women instead of hearing about bolo ties on VH1?"

"Ah, the bolo tie," Sam begins. "I had a silver one with turquoise that the girls really liked."

I sigh. "Sam."

"A date with 20 women?" he asks. "Is that legal?"

"The last thing I'd involve you in, Sam, is illegal activity with women."

"Because of my thing with Laurie?" he asks defensively.

I lower my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. "It's perfectly legal, and it'll be fun."

"I could be up for that." He shrugs. "I'll just tape VH1."

"Excellent." I pat his back. "I'll explain the concept later."

Sam stands. "There's a concept?"

We walk into the bullpen together.

"Yeah. It's called speed dating," I reply.

"Is that the thing where you have five minute conversations with 20 women in two hours?" He pours a cup of coffee.

I notice Donna standing by the filing cabinet.

"Keep your voice down," I say.

"Is it a secret?" Sam asks in a whisper.

"Sort of. Yeah."

He looks nervous. "I am good at many things, Josh, but keeping secrets isn't one of them."

This is true. If CJ so much as looks at Sam a certain way, he'll break like a China doll dropped on bricks.

"Just file it in the back of your mind. If you don't think about it, you won't talk about it," I reply.

He nods. "Ok. I should go. I'm sure Toby's scaling the wall in there."

With that, Sam walks away. That was easier than I thought. 

I saunter into Donna's area to find out more about her plans with Margaret.

"Here are your notes on corporate licensing. I'll have the stuff on HR 412 by the end of the day." She hands me a blue folder, then tries walking around me, but I'm blocking the way.

I step to the side, but it still doesn't give Donna much room to maneuver in the small space. Her arm brushes mine. I lose my train of thought for a couple of seconds.

"Speed dating sounds fun," I comment.

"Josh." She slams a drawer shut and gives me a "please don't go there" look. 

That has never stopped me before.

"What's not to like about 20 single men and an 'anything-goes vibe' in a bar?" I lean against the partition, crossing my arms.

"I'm doing this as a favor to Margaret." She sits in her chair and spins in the other direction. "Besides, I think it'll be fun."

I move in front of her desk. "You're not worried about the creeps this kind of thing attracts?"

"How do you know it attracts creeps, Josh?" She looks up at me. "I'm sure there are many attractive, busy professionals who'll take this thing seriously. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"How much can you tell about a guy in five minutes?" I shrug.

"You'd be surprised." Donna stands again, pulling a binder down from the top of the filing cabinet. "And it's three minutes, not five."

"Three minutes? That's even worse." I stand next to her.

"Are you saying you couldn't tell anything about me in the first three minutes we met?" she asks.

I could tell I'd never get tired of talking to her.

"I knew you were crazy," I respond instead.

"And I could tell you were an egomaniac," she says, turning around and walking back to her desk.

"It took you three minutes to figure that out? Most people can tell in two." I smirk.

There's a grin playing at the corners of her mouth. It causes me to smile.

"You're late for your appointment with Parker Timmons from Westinghouse."

"Right." I leave Donna to, you know, do my job, while I go grill a guy about corporate licensing.

*  
Friday afternoons in the West Wing are rarely enjoyable. I either have too much work to do, which means I'll spend Saturday and Sunday chained to my desk, or I have to hear about other people's plans for the weekend. 

This weekend Toby's going to a Redskins game with Ed and Larry. Leo is going to New Hampshire with the President and Mrs. Bartlet. CJ and Carol are taking a cooking class. And Donna's going speed dating.

Of course, Sam and I are going speed dating as well, but it's only because I have to keep an eye on Donna. Creeps, I tell you. They're all after the same thing, and one look at Donna –long legs, blonde hair, freckled nose – will make their heads spin. I'm giving up my Friday night to save her from their greedy hands and vulgar minds.

"I'm leaving." Donna appears in my doorway, wrapping a scarf around her neck.

"Have fun." I look down at the memo on my desk. Actually, it's not a memo. It's Ming's Dynasty's take-out menu. I haven't actually done any work since about 4 p.m.

"Glad to have your chair back?"

I glance at Donna. Her lips look glossy.

"I didn't mind the throne," I reply.

"I did." She smiles. "Your ego is big enough without you thinking you're a king."

I grin.

"See you tomorrow, Josh."

I quickly look away. "Right." 

Donna walks out of one door, and CJ comes barreling in the other.

"You little conniving jackass." 

"Little?" I ask.

She slams the door. "What makes you think you can spoil Donna and Margaret's plans tonight?"

"I've never been called 'little' before." I say, trying to get CJ off topic.

"How about we drop the 'little' and just stick with jackass?" she suggests.

"This doesn't look good for me," I mutter.

"You're damn right it doesn't." CJ folds her arms. "Why would you ruin Donna's evening like this?"

"I'm not going to ruin it." I throw the pen I was holding onto my desk. "There are weirdo freaks out there, CJ. I'm protecting Donna."

"What about Margaret?" She raises one eyebrow.

Oops. Forgot about Margaret. "Her, too." I run a hand through my hair. "How'd you find out about this?"

"Have you learned nothing about Sam's secret-keeping abilities since we've been in office?"

Damn it! I knew Sam would break.

"Honestly, CJ, we're not going to ruin Donna and Margaret's night. We'll sit idly on the sidelines in case they need rescuing."

"Have you ever known either woman to need rescuing?" she asks. "I think Margaret's up to a brown belt in karate, and Donna's wearing three-inch heels."

I noticed.

Sam rushes into my office. "I think I might've screwed up." He turns to his right and notices CJ brooding in the corner. He takes a few steps away from her.

"Might have?" I ask.

"She started grilling me about the thing tonight," Sam states.

CJ takes a step closer to him. "I asked if you had any plans for the evening."

"It was your tone." Sam looks like a frightened child.

"CJ, we're not going to screw anything up." I stand and put on my suit jacket. "I read the HurryDate brochure. It looks fun. Besides, Sam and I are both eligible bachelors."

"If you so much as make Donna or Margaret uncomfortable, I'll hear about it." She points her finger at me. "And trust me when I say you don't want to experience the wrath of the sisterhood."

I turn to Sam. He gulps.

"Relax, Gloria Allred." I tug Sam by the arm and leave my office. "We've got it under control," I call over my shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Remember junior high? Those excruciating mixers in the high school gym? Girls huddled together against one wall, guys lined up on the other side, while "Open Arms" played in the background? Both groups trying to act as though they're not petrified of rejection?

Speed dating is a lot like that.

Instead of a gym, of course, we're in the upstairs bar of a yuppie-style restaurant. Instead of study hall and history, we've all just come here from work. The segregation of the sexes, however, has remained much the same. The women still group together, seeking comfort in their shared nerves. The men form a sea of black and navy on the other side of the room. Everyone tries to act as though they're ready for a super-fun time. No one quite succeeds.

I myself am looking on the bright side, however: At least I'll no longer tower over half the guys in the room.

Besides, no one is likely to pay attention to me as long as I'm standing next to Margaret. She's decked out like a Christmas tree. I mean that literally. Margaret has chosen a red-and-green cocktail dress and is wearing dangly round earrings that remind me of holiday ornaments. Her hair is done up in a bouffant style that must have required the better half of a bottle of hairspray. She suggested that I try some of her new lipstick; however, I'm not sure I want to wear something called "Shameless Hussy."

"This is the worst part," I overhear the woman standing next to Margaret say. "Waiting for things to get started. It's lots of fun once you start talking to the guys."

I stare at her in horror. "You've done this before?"

"Oh, yeah," she says. "This is my third time." 

Amazing. She looks so normal—medium height, brown hair, a tasteful blue cocktail dress. 

Margaret, of course, takes this as confirmation of her decision to make us go through this thing. "So you've met some interesting men?" she asks, turning to me with "I told you so" written all over her face.

"I really have," the woman (according to her name tag—yes, we're all wearing name tags—she's Kelly) replies. "It's so much better than going on some miserable blind date."

"Tell me about it," Margaret mutters. Things, it seems, did not go well between Margaret and Curtis. As she told me on the way over, when Curtis wasn't talking about the joys of furniture repair, he was discussing his passion for Dungeons and Dragons.   
"Aren't blind dates the worst?" Kelly asks. "You're stuck for hours with some guy you don't like. At least here, you only have to spend a couple of minutes with the losers."

"But what if they're all losers?" I ask, taking a swig of my complimentary drink (a watered-down cosmo). "I mean, how many really great guys are interested in speed dating?"

"You'd be surprised," Kelly says, as she looks across the room at the new crop of speed-dating men. "Like...him. Wow! Come to mama, baby!"

Kelly looks stunned, like she's just seen Cary Grant or Brad Pitt up close and personal. And who can blame her? 

Sam Seaborn has that effect on women.

"Why does a guy that good-looking come to a place like this?" Edie asks. Normally, I'd be pointing out that her question pretty much contradicts her earlier statement about the great guys you can meet speed dating, but I'm too busy fuming. "He can't possibly have problems meeting women."

"Oh, he didn't come here alone," I reply. 

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence," Margaret says. "You know, maybe he just heard us talking and decided to come along." When I give her a skeptical look, she shrugs. "Okay, probably not. But just remember that I spent last night at a hardware store with a man the size of a garden gnome. Don't do anything to embarrass..."

The rest of Margaret's words are drowned out by women asking "Hey, can she do that?" and yelling in no uncertain terms that I'm cheating as I walk over to the men's side of the room.

I stop in front of Sam and cross my arms in the best imitation of CJ Cregg I can muster. "Where is he?" I ask.

Sam gulps but tries to act nonchalant. "Hey, Donna," he says. "What a coincidence, huh? I mean, the two of us—well, three if you count Margaret—coming to this thing. What were the odds?"

"Pretty damn good once the walking ego got wind of this," I answer. "Where is he hiding?"

"Honestly, I don't know what you—"

"I brought my cell phone, Sam, and I have CJ's number on speed dial. Don't make me use it."

Sam deflates like a balloon. "He's downstairs. He wanted me to stay down there too. But, I ask you, what's the point in coming to something like this if you don't take in the whole experience?"

I start to make my way to the door when I hear a bell ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?" a voice asks. 

This would be Cherie (accent on the second syllable, as she informs us), our representative from HurryDate, explaining the rules and making us take our proper places. (It's possible she gives me her own version of the CJ Cregg Death Glare as she says this.) Cherie, a forty-something woman in a truly hideous lavender business suit, goes over the same rules we've already read in the brochure: Don't give anyone your contact information—no last names, no addresses, no information about where you work. (Sam looks more than a little relieved to hear that last one.) After each encounter, check whether the person is a match or not. 

At this point, Cherie waves a bright red whistle. "Everybody get used to this sound!" she announces. A hideous shrieking noise causes half the crowd to jump and the other half to cover their ears. "That's your cue that your three minutes are up and it's time to move on to your next HurryDate."

With that, the other women start taking their seats, and Margaret's giving me the "hurry-up" sign. I, however, am not going anywhere. Not until a certain someone walks through that door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
If there's one thing I've learned in all my years in politics, it's that you have to have a strategy. Without one, you might as well wave a white flag. My strategy for tonight is first to go unnoticed until the event begins. Second, when Donna sees me, I'll act unaffected. Third, I'll keep an eye on her at all times, ensuring that the men keep their hands to themselves. Finally, when Donna and I have our three minute date, I'll convince her that she shouldn't be wasting her time speed dating. Or, really, dating in general.

So far phase one has been a complete success. I'm sitting at a bar, nursing a gin and tonic. The speed dating crowd is still trickling in, but before anyone has a chance to order a cocktail, a small woman with a squeaky voice ushers them upstairs. According to her nametag, this is Heidi.

Heidi is stationed at the front door with a clipboard in hand. Images of Julie from "The Love Boat" pop into my head. She asks every person entering the restaurant if they're here for the HurryDate event. If they say yes, she highlights their name on a spreadsheet. If they say no, it's usually followed by laughter and something like "Are you kidding me?" or "Hurry what?"

I all but begged Sam to stay downstairs with me until the thing began, but he refused.

"What's the point in coming to something like this if you don't take in the whole experience?" he'd asked.

Just as I'm about to take the last sip of my drink, Heidi approaches me.

"We're about to get started," she says with a big smile.

"How do you know I'm here for the HurryDate thing?" 

That was presumptuous of her.

"You're the only man who's alone at the bar." She shrugs. "I took a stab."

I look around the bar area and see that Heidi is right: I'm the only person down here who doesn't appear to be with friends or a date. "Right."

"Have you checked in yet?"

The humiliation begins. "No."

"What's your name? I'll make a nametag for you." She puts a cap on the highlighter and pulls out a red Sharpie.

For a second, I think about lying. I could be Leo tonight. Or Toby. 

"Josh," I reply. "Josh Lyman."

She scans her spreadsheet, lifting the top two pages. "I don't have you on the list."

"I was told I could register on site." This time I do lie.

Heidi smiles. "Of course you can! We'll need the $50 registration fee plus a $10 late fee. Cash only."

I settle my bar tab, pay Heidi $60, then follow her upstairs.

Donna better be grateful I'm here.

The first thing I notice upstairs is the clear division of the room: men on one side, women on the other. I have a horrible flashback to Homecoming Dance my freshman year of high school. I had a piece of meat caught in my braces half the night. It wasn't until Kurt Kirkland shoved a finger sandwich in his mouth and said, "Look everybody! I'm Josh Lyman!" that I realized my braces would cause me to remain dateless for the rest of freshman year.

There are at least 40 people here. I scan the room for Donna, but the sound of a whistle scares the crap out of me before I can locate her. A round woman in a garish lavender suit is reviewing the rules of speed dating. As she says something about circling yes or no on a scorecard, I spot Sam. He's listening closely to the instructions.

"Ok, ladies and gentleman. Take your seats." The round lady helps facilitate the seating arrangements. "A waitress will be by to take drink orders throughout the evening. Remember, your first drink is on us!"

Good. I could use one right about now. I walk over to the bar.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asks an unmistakable voice behind me.

I spin around and come face-to-face with Donna. "Hey."

She changed out of her work clothes. Now she's wearing jeans and a loose-fitting blouse that's almost falling off her left shoulder.

"Josh!"

"Yes?" I can't take my eyes off her collarbone.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks again.

"I'm ending my dating dry spell or at least finding a suitable tennis partner," I reply as if reading directly from the HurryDate brochure.

She grabs my upper arm and pulls me to the side. "You followed me?"

"I didn't follow you." I can't help but notice that Donna's still holding my arm. "I thought I'd be here for, you know, protection, in case you needed me."

"I don't need protection, Joshua." She puts her hands on her hips, causing the neckline of her shirt to plunge just enough for me to see the top of her cleavage. "You came here to sabotage my dates."

It would be difficult to deny that, so it's fortunate that Heidi has commandeered the microphone.

"Now that you're all situated, it's time to begin," she says.

"Don't talk to me," Donna whispers, walking back to the seating area.

I'm quick on her heels. "I'm going to have to talk to you since we're about to have our first date."

Donna stops in her tracks. I nearly bump into her.

"It's going to be the longest three minutes of my life." She takes a seat in front of a man with more hair gel than Sam.

I'm left standing near the middle of the room with 40 plus eyes staring at me.


	2. Musical Chairs

Apparently, the way this thing works is the women sit at a small table, and the men rotate around the room for each mini-date. 

Donna is at least ten tables away from me, but I'd have a good view of her if the woman in front of me would simply switch seats.

"I'm Patsy," she says.

I look over my shoulder, then back at her. "Would you mind switching seats?"

She looks at me like I'm crazy.

"It's three minutes of your life, Patsy." I grin. "And I need to see what's going on out there."

With a slight huff, Patsy agrees to switch seats. Now I have a perfect view of Donna and the man with all the hair gel.

"How long have you lived in DC?" Patsy asks after a long bout of silence.

"I moved here after graduating from Yale Law School," I reply, staring at Donna. She looks disturbed by the man in front of her.

Patsy raises her eyebrows. "You went to Yale?"

I nod. "Harvard undergrad."

"I'm a big fan of higher education," she says.

This piques my interest. "We're working on higher ed tax credits. If Congress cooperates, you might see some major changes in the way people pay for college by the middle of next year."

Patsy looks confused. 

As I'm about to chastise Congress and maybe get a good chuckle out of Patsy, I notice Donna's date touching her hair. Donna pulls back. I grip the table until my knuckles turn white.

"Are you ok?" Patsy asks.

Donna seems to have handled the man on her own. 

I relax a bit. "Yeah. I'm fine."

The whistle blows, once again scaring the crap out of me.

"Nice meeting you." I stand. 

Patsy has already circled no on her scorecard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"Are you a natural blonde?"

Date Number One must notice the confused look on my face because he clarifies his question. "I run a hair salon, you see, and I notice these things."

What things—that this is my natural color hair? Or does he think that I'm a brunette trying to pass as blonde? 

"And I have to say," he continues, "that this pale shade is all wrong for you."

"Excuse me?" 

My outraged tone must sail right by him, cause he just keeps going on. "You need a deeper shade of blonde to complement your skin color." He reaches over the table and touches my hair. I pull back immediately, but he still doesn't get how offensive he's being. "The straight look's not really working for you either. You need a perm, and you really ought to think about cutting a couple of inches off your hair."

I can think of a couple of inches of his anatomy I'd like to trim.

"I'm pretty satisfied with my hair the way it is," I tell him. 

He finally seems to have gotten the point. "Oh, believe me, I understand. We all get into a rut; we're afraid to move outside our comfort zone." Okay, maybe he hasn't gotten the point, after all. "But as a professional, I must tell you that you're just short of being a truly beautiful woman. If you'd just make these little changes, it will make all the difference in the world."

"Are you here to meet someone, or are you just trying to find new customers?" I ask. 

"Well, there's no reason I can't do both, is there?"

Am I the only person here who's stuck with The Speed Date From Hell? I look to my left to see what's going on. There are women who look as horrified as I must, women who look bored and one woman who looks star-struck (she's sitting across from Sam). And then there's Josh. Yes, the White House Deputy Chief of Staff has taken over one of the seats reserved for the women. Typical. Josh makes his own rules. He's not about to start this experience by being interrogated. No, he has to have the seat of power; he has to be the one asking the questions.

Despite myself, I smile. 

The whistle blows just then, signaling that it's time for Date Number One to move on. He leaves me, however, with one final suggestion.

"You know, you'd really look good in bangs."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I rotate to my right as I watch Donna shake hands with a tall man with dirty blond hair. 

"Are you going to sit?" the woman in front of me asks.

"Sorry, I was just..." I hook my thumb towards Donna. "Never mind."

"I'm Yon."

"Josh," I respond, taking a seat. 

I want to ask her to switch seats with me, but if I turn my head about 90 degrees, I have a decent view of Donna and the Jeff Daniels look-alike.

"Most people have a reaction to my name or my accent," Yon says, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

"I wasn't really paying attention," I respond.

She looks down. "Oh."

Donna and her date seem to be hitting it off. Three minutes is way too long. These men are falling for her the second they sit down.

"I'm Korean," she says. "Yon means lotus blossom."

"It's a nice name," I reply.

"Thank you." She smiles. "Have you ever dated a Korean woman?"

"No, but I attended a summit in Seoul last year."

She crinkles her brow.

"I was only there for three days. Not much time for, you know, meeting women."

"I suppose not." Yon looks at her watch.

Donna just put her hand over her date's hand. This can't be good. Once again, I summon the strength not to get up and punch the man's lights out.

Saved by the whistle. 

I stand and shoot daggers at the man in front of Donna. He visibly tenses.

When I turn back to Yon, she's ordering a double shot of tequila from the waitress.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Date Number Two might be a keeper under different circumstances. 

He seems intelligent; he even laughs at my story about how I'm only here as payback for setting my friend up on a bad blind date. And he's not bad looking at all—he has sandy-brown hair, blue eyes, and a great smile. 

Unfortunately, my confession about coming with Margaret leads to his explaining that he was dragged here by a friend as well. It seems his friend wants him to get out more instead of moping around the apartment, lamenting his lost love.

Yes, my dream date here is on the rebound.

Worse, he's the guy who's still so hung up on his old girlfriend that he can't talk about anything else. The glorious Brenda, it turns out, was a lawyer; they were together for two years; they were talking about marriage and children. Then she got a transfer to another city, and she met someone else. That, it turns out, was a year ago.

There are certain rules I live by. "Never date a guy who's still talking about his former girlfriend a year later" is pretty much at the top of that list.

Several tables away from me, however, Josh is smirking at the obvious discomfort I'm displaying. Typical. Despite the fact that he's sitting across from an attractive woman, all Josh can do is look for ways to humiliate me. As silly as this speed dating stuff is, there's always a chance that you might meet someone interesting. But all my boss cares about is finding new and exciting ways to mock me.

A dramatic shift in my body language is clearly called for. I lean forward, put my hand over Date Number Two's hand, and smile sympathetically.

The scowl on Josh's face makes it all worthwhile.

"I'm so sorry, Dave," I tell him. I know how difficult breakups can be." 

A minute ago, Dave looked like he was on the verge of tears. Now, however, he looks like he's just gotten his first real look at me and he likes what he sees.

"You know, Donna," he says, "you're a great listener. You remind me a lot of Brenda. Maybe--"

Luckily for me, the whistle blows before Dave can finish that thought. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
On the third date, I'm finally able to relax. The guy approaching Donna looks like a Munchkin. There's no way she'll be into him.

I, however, am pleasantly surprised to see a very attractive woman in front of me. She has on fashionable glasses and just a touch of makeup.

"Hi. I'm Josh."

"Sabrina," she responds, shaking my hand. "How's it going?"

"Not well." I smile. "You?"

She shrugs. "Not so bad."

Donna looks like she's arguing with her date. I couldn't be happier.

"You seem too normal to be at something like this," I say.

"My twin sister dragged me here," Sabrina responds. "She's writing an article for her sociology class."

"You're in college?" I raise my eyebrows.

She chuckles. "No. I got my MBA three years ago. My sister took a few years off and modeled in Italy. She'll get her diploma in a few weeks."

Wow. I have to meet the sister. Not that Sabrina is hard on the eyes.

I catch Donna staring at me. She looks uncomfortable. Perhaps it's because I've met someone interesting and, you know, hot.

"What do you do for fun, Josh?" Sabrina asks, leaning forward a bit.

I think about my answer for a second. Why sugar coat the truth? "I make fun of Republicans."

She has this expectant look on her face; like she's waiting for me to retract my statement or claim it was a joke.

"It never gets old," I say. "Sometimes I turn on C-SPAN and yell at them on TV, but it's much better in person."

Sabrina folds her arms. "You make fun of people as a pastime?"

"Not people in general," I respond. "Just Republicans."

She takes a long swig of her drink.

The whistle blows. 

I stand and give Donna a dimpled grin. She looks like she's going to kill me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"How tall are you?"

That's Date Number Three's idea of an opening line. Looks like I'm back in junior high, after all.

"I'm 5'10."

Date Number Three (aka Mike) looks me over, his eyes finally focusing on my chest. He sighs. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to wear flats all the time."

"No," I reply. "I wouldn't." 

What can I say? I'm not attracted to insecure men. To me, the sexiest men are the ones who are confident enough not to care if the woman they're with makes more money or has a better job or is taller than they are. The right man for me is the one who can feel like he's in charge wherever he is or whoever he's with.

For some reason, my gaze wanders over to Josh. He's being a good boy and sitting on the men's side of the table again, but everything about his posture makes it clear that he's in charge. He's sort of leaning back in his chair, one hand on his hip, giving his date the dimpled grin that has charmed many an unsuspecting lobbyist.

Mike stands up, looking defeated. "I'm 5'7," he says. I look Mike over one more time. Frankly, I think he's giving himself credit for a few inches too many. "You're too tall."

I'm generally a kind-hearted person, but these guys are getting on my nerves. "Actually," I tell Mike, "the problem is that you're too short."

Mike sneers at me. "Yeah, well, there's no point in wasting time. I don't much care for Amazons. See you around."

"Yeah," I mumble. "It was nice meeting you too, Munchkin."

Without even waiting for the whistle, Date Number Three heads toward the refreshments at the other end of the room.

And, yes, I catch Josh smirking at me once again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I'm forced to sit through three more horrible dates before I stand in front of Margaret's area. Her table is set up much like her desk. There are two glasses and a pitcher of water, a notepad, a spreadsheet of some kind, and a two-page list of questions with notes in the margin. She also has a variety of pens and highlighters next to the infamous manila folder.

"What the hell is all of this?" I ask, sitting in the chair across from her.

"It's my station," Margaret replies, flipping to a fresh page in her notepad. "So, Josh, what's your greatest fear?"

I lift my eyebrows and smirk. "You must be kidding me with this."

She purses her lips. "I'm not."

"My greatest fear?" I tug on my tie and undo the top two buttons on my shirt. "A Republican president."

"Josh!" she yells.

"You're not afraid of a Republican being elected?" I ask. "Do you realize the mood Leo would be in if that happened? Do you really want to deal with that, Margaret?"

She leans closer to me and whispers, "You're breaking the rule of anonymity."

"How the hell would these people know who Leo is?" I shrug.

"I'm done with you," she huffs. Margaret gives the round woman in the lavender suit a death glare. "She better blow that damn whistle." 

The woman blows the whistle, and I hear Margaret thank God under her breath. She circles no on her scorecard and crosses my name off her spreadsheet.

"I guess that means I didn't make the first cut." I grin.

"If I could erase your name from this thing, I would."

She's doing a fine job of scratching it out with a red pen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"Sanctuary!"

Sam lands in the chair opposite mine, a terrified expression on his face. 

"Tough evening?" I ask.

He nods. "These women are...they're really intense."

"Intense can be good," I suggest. It really can. Take Josh, for instance. He's sitting across from Margaret now. Whatever they're arguing about, Josh is completely focused on it. He's leaning toward her, gesturing frantically. They must be talking politics. 

"Not this kind of intense," Sam's voice brings me back to the conversation I'm supposed to be having. He leans across the table and whispers, "One of them asked me to father her child."

I take a sip of water to keep myself from laughing. "I don't suppose she's a single mother."

"Not yet," Sam says. 

And with that, I spit the water out.

Gentleman that he is, Sam pretends not to notice. "I mean," he continues, "I don't intend to take her up on the offer, but she was pretty adamant about wanting to have a baby as soon as possible. And, you know, as soon as I mentioned that I went to Princeton, she propositioned me."

"Well, of course she did." 

Sam gives me a puzzled look, so I explain. "Her biological clock is apparently ticking, and then you come along—Ivy League education, gentlemanly, and looking like you just stepped off the cover of GQ. It's a wonder she didn't rip your clothes off."

Sam looks stunned. I shake my head over his naiveté. "Sam," I ask, "do you even _own_ a mirror?"

The whistle sounds again, and Sam looks at me in horror. I gesture to my right. "Go," I tell him. "Margaret and I will keep an eye on you. If it looks like you're in danger, we'll call the Secret Service."

Reluctantly, Sam gets up and heads to the next table. 

Taking his place is a man who could be on that GQ cover with Sam. He has brown hair, green eyes, a dazzling smile and a firm handshake. "Hello," he says in a deep voice that sends chills down my spine. "I'm Kyle."

Maybe Speed Dating isn't such a bad idea after all.

*  
There's nothing wrong with Kyle. 

Nothing at all.

In fact, Kyle is every woman's dream. Tall, handsome, intelligent and a great listener. How's that for a turn-on? Kyle is more interested in what I have to say than he is in talking about himself.

I've just hit the speed-dating jackpot. This is the super-fun I was promised. So why is it that I keep looking at someone else?

At the next table, Josh is tapping his fingers anxiously. He is not the least interested in what his date is saying. 

I'm so much luckier than that woman. If I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to switch dates, she'd probably thank me profusely.

What the hell is my problem? Why do I find myself looking somewhere else? Why am I fidgeting around in my chair instead of paying attention to the perfect man in front of me?

You know, I could probably give Kyle the concentration he deserves if Josh would stop staring at me.

I hate epiphanies. They're so inconvenient. But this epiphany is staring me down in all its rumpled, brown-eyed glory. 

I've dated my share of Kyles since I got to DC. Great guys who didn't stand a chance. Because what I wanted all along was something else—a man who has owned every single room I've seen him walk into, who's all ego and bluster on the outside but who has a sensitive and generous soul underneath. A man who occasionally has to be reminded to listen, it's true, but who will never forget one thing you've told him. Ever.

"Donna," Kyle says. He's turned that dazzling smile back on, and I give myself a mental kick. "I know we're not supposed to say this, but I'm hoping the feeling's mutual."

And the thing is, I like Kyle; I really do. I tell him as much as the whistle blows. He squeezes my hand and, polite guy that he is, makes way for my next date.

One Joshua Lyman, source of my inconvenient epiphany.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I might have gotten up from my mini-date with Valerie the veterinarian before the whistle blew. I have good reason: my next date is Donna.

I try to control what I know Donna would call my swagger, but I can't help it. It's just the way I walk.

"We don't have to do this, Josh." She brushes a piece of hair behind her ear.

"It's exciting: our first date." I grin.

I could swear she's blushing.

"Met anyone interesting?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Donna?" I pull my chair closer to the table and lower my voice. "What do I do in my spare time?"

She lets out a nervous laugh. "I thought I was supposed to ask the questions."

I look into her eyes. They're almost the same color as her shirt. "Answer me."

"What spare time?" she replies.

I try hiding my smile. "What do I enjoy more than anything in the world?"

"Making fun of Republicans," she answers.

"What's my favorite movie?" I move my hand closer to hers. My pinky is touching the tip of her thumb.

She lifts her hand just enough for me to move three fingers underneath. "You tell people it's 'Citizen Kane,' but it's really 'Caddyshack.'"

If I lean any further over the table, my butt will be in the air. I can't get close enough to her. "How many times have I been to Hawaii?"

Donna pouts. "Twice. Both times without me." 

I smirk. "I'm working on it."

"Why are you doing this?" She sits a little straighter.

"Because you know me better than anyone, Donna. And I know you just as well." I lick my lips. "You shouldn't be here tonight."

"Where should I be?" Her tone is a bit tentative, but it's laced with anticipation.

The whistle blows before I make the biggest confession of my life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
He'll be making jokes about this for months. He'll tell Toby and CJ and Leo about it during senior staff. He'll lean back against the sofa, grin and tell them about our adventures in speed dating. Josh, damn him, can be a great storyteller when he wants to be. He'll go on at length about all the losers he saw me with. (Sam will interrupt here, mildly indignant: "Hey, I was one of those losers!" CJ will laugh;   
Toby will simply shake his head in exasperation.) It will be humiliating.

Especially if he has an actual My-Date-With-Donna story to tell them.

The best thing to do is to send him away. "We don't have to do this," I assure him. 

Instead of getting up and seeking out another free drink, however, Josh sits down, grins and informs me that we're on our first date.

Oh, yeah, that will amuse them back at the White House.

I'm not giving him any ammunition, however. When he asks about my dates, I just shrug it off. He doesn't need to know whether I've met anyone interesting or not. 

I expect him to keep pushing at me for information; he needs it for the mocking, after all. Strangely enough, though, he changes the subject. "Donna," he asks in this sultry tone, "what do I do in my spare time?"

Apparently, he still hasn't gotten the whole feel of the speed dating experience; he can't get it through his head that I'm supposed to be asking the questions.

The questions he's asking are simple enough: What does he like to do in his spare time? What's his favorite movie? But there's something strangely intimate about this whole encounter. There's that raspy tone of voice, the way he pulls his chair so close, the way he runs his fingers against my hand. 

Why is he doing this, anyway?

He takes a deep breath when I ask him that, like he's trying to decide how to answer me. He squeezes my hand and gives me this smile that, on anyone other than Josh, could be described as self-effacing.

"Because you know me better than anyone," he says. "And I know you just as well." 

That's not much of an answer, really. I mean, of course we know each other well; we spend seventeen hours or so together every day. Tell me something I don't know.

"You shouldn't be here tonight," he adds. 

I feel as though all the air just left the building. Because, when he says that, it sounds like...Well, if this were some other man, I'd think the next line was "You should be with me."

But that's not possible, is it? I mean, having my own little epiphany is one thing, but mutual epiphanies? What are the odds?

"Where should I be?" I ask. Then I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

And that, damn it, is when Cherie blows her whistle again. 

I'm really starting to hate that sound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
As my final two dates drone on about everything from fine art to the art of knitting, I can't stop thinking about Donna. My last date nearly threw her martini in my face the third time I mentioned Donna's name. Luckily, I got up before she had the chance.

Donna seems distracted, too. She keeps glancing in my direction. Of course, she could be looking at that meathead, Kyle. He certainly is checking her out.

The woman in the ugly lavender suit announces that the formal portion of the evening is over, but we're free to mingle and enjoy more drinks. I'm going to need another one if I'm staying here to keep an eye on Donna.

"Thank God you're still here," Sam says nearly out of breath.

"Where else would I be?" 

"These women are crazy," he whispers.

I order two Heinekens.

"I didn't pay much attention," I admit.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "You just went on 20 dates, Josh. You didn't pay attention to any of them?"

I hand him a beer. "No."

Just then, Sabrina and her twin cozy up to Sam. He looks like a frightened puppy.

"Looks like you have your hands full." I raise my beer to Sam, then walk away in search of Donna.

Before I reach her, I spot Heidi and the woman in the lavender suit, tallying the scorecards. I wouldn't mind knowing how well I did.

"Hi," I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.

"Josh, right?" Heidi asks with a smile.

I nod. "So how'd I do?"

The women look at each other, then Heidi looks down at her clipboard. "I don't know how to say this, but no one circled yes for you."

I raise my eyebrows. "No one?"

She shakes her head.

I pick up a stack of scorecards. "This guy is like five feet tall! How could he possibly have three yes's circled? This one is wearing a bowtie! He looks like Jerry Lewis in 'The Nutty Professor.' How could I lose to a guy like that? Don't even get me started on the Republican cowboy."

Heidi snatches the cards away from me. "Those are private."

"I'm infinitely more intelligent and attractive than 99 percent of the men in this room."

"You're flattering yourself."

I look to my right to find Margaret sipping on a fruity drink of some sort. The little umbrella sticking out of the glass nearly pokes her in the nose.

"How can you say that, Margaret?" I fold my arms. "What did I do that was so wrong?"

She sets her drink on a nearby table, then ticks off my faults with her fingers. Her long, painted nails, which I'm pretty sure are fake, make a clicking sound against her thumbnail.

"First, eye contact. You kept looking straight over my shoulder the entire time. Second, you were snippy. Third, you raised your voice on two occasions." Margaret sighs. "I'm sorry Josh, we're just not compatible."

"But I'm charming and smart and powerful," I insist.

"You come off as obnoxious, egotistical and uninterested."

"I AM uninterested!" I shout.

A few people look my way.

Just then, Donna approaches me. She puts her hand on my arm. Despite my rage, her touch is incredibly soothing.

"You didn't circle yes?"

"Josh, you need to let these women do their jobs." She gestures to Heidi and the other woman. 

"But you didn't circle yes?" I ask again.

She lowers her head. "No."

"Donna!" I turn to face her. "Why wouldn't you want to go out with me again?"

"Keep your voice down," she says, gripping my wrist and tugging me away from Margaret and the two women in charge.

"I thought we had a good date," I whisper.

"We did." Donna tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Then why wouldn't you circle yes?"

Kyle the meathead interrupts us. "Donna, I was hoping we could have a conversation that wasn't interrupted by a whistle."

She smiles and removes her hand from my arm. Damn this guy.

"I'd love to get your number," Kyle says.

I raise my eyebrows and stand a little taller. "That's not part of the rules." 

I know I sound like half the men in this place, but damn it, this meathead is not getting my assistant's number.

Kyle looks at me like I'm nuts.

"The rules say," I continue, "that the woman has to circle yes for you and vice versa. You can't just ask for her number."

"The formal portion of the evening is over," he responds.

Kyle has a good three or four inches on me. However, I don't back down. I take a step closer and lift my chin. "Doesn't matter."

"How do you know she didn't circle yes?" he asks.

While Donna was seemingly amused by my earlier antics, she now looks a bit concerned. 

She raises her eyebrows and puts her hand on my elbow. "Josh," she warns.

I keep my eye on Kyle. "Because I know these things," I say, putting my hands on my hips.

"Like hell you do."

Donna steps between us, which is a good thing considering my hand is balled up into a fist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"Do something about your boss."

I've been sitting quietly on the sidelines, nursing my second Cosmo of the evening and hoping that everyone will ignore me. You can't hide from Margaret, however; she's used to seeking out frightened staffers who are trying to hide from Leo. Now she's standing over me, pointing a Shameless Hussy-colored finger in Josh's direction. "He's making a scene," she explains. 

"I'm off-duty," I reply. "Get Sam to take care of him."

"Sam seems to have his hands full," she says, nodding her head to the right. 

He does indeed. Three women in the room have him surrounded. One woman, who actually looks taller than CJ, seems to have his attention. But I wouldn't rule out the identical twins; they have the whole strength-in-numbers thing going for them, and they don't seem likely to concede the battle to Xena, Warrior Princess, yet.

I sigh, stand up and set my drink on the nearest table. "What's Josh upset about?" I ask.

"He's not the answer to every woman's prayer."

"Any particular woman?" My voice registers something between hope and resignation. 

Ignoring my question, Margaret replies, "He's upset because no one circled yes for him on the scorecard. I think he's about to demand a recount."

By the time I make it over to Josh, he has poor Cherie and her assistant cornered. 

Unlike the other men in the room, who are all neat and tidy, Josh is quite something to see: his tie is loose; his collar is open; his shirt sleeves are rolled up, calling attention to the muscles in his arms. 

My mouth is incredibly dry; I need to take another sip or two of my drink. 

Not one woman circled his name? Are they crazy? Okay, yes, he can be a bit much when you first get to know him, but look at the man! At the very least, he should at least have gotten one or two women who just want a one-night stand with a hot guy.

Based on the way he's haranguing Cherie, apparently Josh can't understand it either.

"You didn't circle yes?" he asks, turning to face me. 

There's something disconcerting about the way Josh stares at me when he asks that question. I find myself staring at the floor rather than admit how tempted I was. 

He won't let the subject go, of course, and I'm afraid that people are starting to look at us. Haven't I had enough embarrassment for one night? Do I have to end the evening by admitting that I'm in love with my boss?

That's when Kyle, God bless him, comes to my rescue. 

Or tries to.

Josh suddenly becomes a stickler for the rules, lecturing Kyle on how it's inappropriate to ask for my number. This could end worse than the White House Chair Surfing Competition.

Kyle is at least four inches taller than Josh and almost certainly works out more. But Josh, being Josh, refuses to back down. 

Clearly it is time to stop musing over the various humiliations this evening has afforded me and get back to being Donna Moss, Voice of Reason and Rescuer of Josh Lyman's ass.

"Kyle," I say, as I move to shake his hand, "it's getting late, and I really should go. It was nice meeting you."

To my complete surprise, Kyle does not shake my hand. Instead, he takes it in his and kisses my knuckles.

Have you ever seen a bullfight? Okay, neither have I, but I've been to the movies. And in those movies, you can tell when the bull is ready to charge. His eyes kind of narrow and gleam red.

Just like Josh's eyes right now.

Kyle either doesn't notice or is unimpressed by Josh's impending wrath. "Let me at least walk you to your car," Kyle says. 

Before I have the chance to decline his offer gracefully, Josh butts in. "Look, maybe you didn't get the message." He's still glaring at Kyle. "She's not inter—Ow!"

Bullfighters have capes to stop the rampaging beast; I have spiked heels. 

Josh is now hopping on one foot, in what I can only hope is great pain. Kyle, trying to keep a smile off his face, holds out his hand. "Shall we go?" he asks.

Whatever else may be said about him, it cannot be denied that Josh Lyman is a determined man. And ridiculously competitive. 

Ignoring the pain in his foot, he stands in front of Kyle, fists clenched, and snarls. "If you think I'm about to let Donna leave with a complete stranger," he announces, "you're out of your mind."

"Look, buddy," Kyle begins, "I don't know what business it is of yours who she goes out with, but—"

"What does she want to do with her life?" Josh suddenly asks. "Do you have any idea? Where did she grow up? What was her major in college? What was the bravest thing she ever did?"

Kyle looks at Josh as though he's grown an extra head. "We just met. How could I possibly know all that?"

"I knew," Josh says. "She wants to make a contribution, to be valuable. She's from Wisconsin. She majored in political science, government, sociology, psychology and biology. The bravest thing she ever did was driving halfway across the country when she had nothing except a beat-up car and $279 because she believed Jed Bartlet should be president. And I knew all of that within the first five minutes of meeting her."

I wish I had a tape recorder. Josh never says things like this to me. Oh, he'll make jokes about how I broke into his office and hired myself. But that he recalls the day we met so clearly, right down to how much money I had? This is new. 

I'm grinning like a lunatic, but I still feel the need to stand up for poor Kyle. It's hardly his fault he crossed our path the night Josh and I had our epiphanies. 

"You knew all that because I told you," I point out to Josh. "And the situations are hardly the same."

"No," Josh answers. His voice has taken on a soft, private tone. "They're not. Those first five minutes would never have changed his life like they did mine."

It's possible that I am close to tearing up here. Because this is the thing about Josh: just when you're ready to hit him over the head for being an idiot, he does something incredibly endearing.

I put my hand on Josh's arm, letting it slide from his elbow to his hand until our fingers are locked together. "Kyle," I say, though it's Josh's eyes I'm looking into, "you'll have to excuse me. I seem to have a previous engagement." 

And with that, Josh and I walk out of the restaurant.

We're halfway to the parking lot before either of us gets the nerve to talk again. 

"You know," I tell Josh, "you missed out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity back there."

Josh, who has been staring at me for the longest time, finally speaks. "What was that?"

"If you'd played your cards right, you could have gone home with Margaret."

He looks horror-stricken. "Donna, I'm begging you, we must never speak of that possibility again."

"You should think of me as your consolation prize is all I'm saying."

"I think of you as many things. However, a consolation prize is not on my list."

"You have a list?" I ask.

"I was making one up between speed dates," he answers. He's got that cocky, too-pleased-with-himself grin. 

"So maybe if you take me home, we could discuss this list of yours in more detail," I suggest. Just in case the inference isn't clear, I stop and kiss him. He seems a little stunned at first, but then his arm goes round my waist and he pulls me closer. The kiss goes from a tentative exploration into something sweet and passionate and incredibly right.

When the kiss ends, I pull him toward my car. I am more than ready to take my speed date home.

"You want details?" he asks, smirking. "I'm good with words."

"I hope you're good with other things as well."

He presses me gently against the car and kisses me, while holding both of my hands near my head. I have no doubt that Josh is skilled with every inch of his body.

After all, I may not be a naive farm girl, but I still have a dream.


End file.
